A Reunion Of Ghosts
by AlexDayLover
Summary: Jim and Sherlock both faked their deaths on the roof of St. Bart's. Then they run into each other, some time later. Fate's a bitch. isn't it?


Jim knew. He knew Sherlock would figure it out. After all, Jim and Sherlock thought almost exactly alike.

He knew Sherlock would meet him on the roof. Simple.

He knew that Sherlock would think of the code. Taptaptap. Obvious.

He knew there was a 78.45% chance that Sherlock would jump to save his friends, while Jim watched.

But he also knew that there was a 21.55% chance that Sherlock would guess Jim could call off the snipers. That he could stop them and save his friends without jumping. Jim prepared for this.

The gun fired blanks. It made a bang, scratched the inside of his mouth without firing an actual bullet, wha-lah.

There was an explosive hidden on Jim's head. He attached it to his skin and covered it with prosthetics. Of course it would hurt when it went off, but he wouldn't die or be seriously injured. If it came down to it, he would have to wear a bandage for a month but he would be fine.

It came down to it. It happened, Sherlock knew. And Jim pulled a trigger and shot himself and died. But he didn't really.

And now he waited as months passed, as people forgot about Sherlock Holmes, the fake, and Richard Brook, the victim. Many also forgot about Jim Moriarty, the criminal genius.

But one man didn't.

Sherlock knew that Jim had a code to stop the snipers. He knew Jim would rather die than reveal it. He knew Jim had died.

But he hadn't really.

And just as Jim believed Sherlock had jumped, Sherlock believed Jim had pulled the trigger and killed himself. And so he waited as well, until Jim's web of criminals was dismantled bit by bit. Until the world was free from Moriarty. Until Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and John were safe. Until even Sherlock was safe, relatively. He would always be targeted. But at least he would be targeted by idiots rather than his equal.

Jim was hiding in various places around the world, secretly still carrying out his operations. Sherlock was also doing his work picking off Moriarty's men, but his work was much faster. Jim needed to stay in the shadows and keep creating identities, because absolutely nobody must know that he was alive. Sherlock's work included disguising himself, shooting a gun through someone's head, or maybe staging an accident, and going on his way. Much quicker and easier (so to speak.)

On a stormy Saturday, Sherlock was in an airport flying to America. One of the last of Moriarty's webs were conducting something up there and Sherlock was determined to put a stop to it.

On the same day, in the same airport and even the same wing (but not the same flight,) was Jim. Neither were disguised, as there was a .9% chance for Sherlock and a .5% chance for Jim of being recognized.

Of course, the unexpected always throws a wrench in their plans.

Sherlock was on his phone, tapping into the airport's Wi-Fi and looking up the weather for his destination. A voice makes him look up.

"No, senseii, I said for YOU to kill him. Not Kyoto-san!"

Sherlock paused. He looked around, spotting the traveler. It couldn't be…

"Yes, I realize that, but… yes, hai, hai. I'll make it happen. Don't disappoint me, or I will find you, and I will choke you with your intestines. Finish it." The man speaking hung up abruptly.

"Insubordinate employee?" Sherlock had moved to stand next to the man, snatching a hat from the seat across from him and pulling it over his hair and face. His voice was higher, sounding almost juvenile.

"You have no idea." The man snorted. "They just don't listen."

"Maybe it would help to threaten then more. I know you're good at it… Jim." The man froze.

"Well, I must say, this is a surprise." Sherlock drawled. "It seems we were both mistaken about the other."

Jim looked at him. "Indeed. Sherlock, I feel just awful about how we last parted. Perhaps we should get together later and chat. I have a flight to catch."

"Oh, yes. Except see, I'm not letting you out of my sight again." Sherlock grinned at him. "I'm actually going on the same flight. Right next to you. We can chat then."

"Right…" Jim deflated a bit, then straightened up and smiled. "Then we better get you a ticket."

"No need." Sherlock fiddled with his iPod. "Already got myself one. Come with me, we're going to switch out."

When the plane boarded, Sherlock and Jim sat together in first-class. "Nice seats." Sherlock commented.

"Of course." Jim said. "I'm a posh sort of person."

"You're also a lying, cheating bastard who faked his own death." Sherlock said flatly. Jim smiled at Sherlock.

"So are you, my friend." He sat back in his seat, careful not to disturb the person behind him. "So tell me. How are you alive? The fall should have killed you."

"Certainly, but for the fact that it was not me that hit the pavement." Sherlock looked outside. He had made Jim take the window seat, to be sure he could not get away. "There was a body hidden on the roof. You didn't see it, I had stashed it. When you had pretended to die, I retrieved it and made it seem as if I had jumped, when in actuality I had pushed the body. Then I made my escape."

"Ah. I should have expected that. Genius, really." Jim applauded lightly.

"Which leads to MY question. How did you survive? Wait… let me guess." Sherlock brought his hands to his face and contemplated for a moment. "Plastic explosives?"

"Well done." Jim played with his tie. "One on the back of my head. The gun fired blanks."

"Why didn't I see that?" Sherlock hit his forehead. "STUPID."

"I'd say we're even." Jim shrugged. "We both thought the other was dead for three years. All in all, pretty good. I suppose we couldn't have fooled each other forever. We both relaxed because we thought we had no enemy."

"Yes, it was sloppy of us both to be undisguised." Sherlock agreed. "I guess we really are matched."

"At least now I know why all my contacts have dropped off the face of the earth." Jim chuckled. "My last one is in America."

"I know. I was on my way there." Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. "I got sidetracked."

"Sidetracked with me? I'm flattered." Jim gave a sly grin. "You really shouldn't have."

"Well, I believe I can leave him alive, if you turn your talents to a different outlet." Sherlock said sternly. Jim sobered.

"You mean like solving crimes with you, instead of creating them to be solved? That sounds rather boring." Jim shook his head. "I'd rather just go to jail now and break out within a month."

"I'm never bored when I'm working on a case." Sherlock looked Jim in the eye. "A good case can be very exciting."

"Sherlock, I was most of your cases. How many good cases would come up without me?" Jim batted his eyes.

"Many." The criminal became intrigued. Sherlock wouldn't lie about that.

"Really? And you want my help?" Jim couldn't help it. It sounded like it could be a good idea.

"As much as I would enjoy the challenge you could pose," Sherlock answered, "I believe that you and I could be an even greater team. Besides," he added, "I would like to go home."

"Yes, home." Jim half-closed his eyes. "We both left sidekicks behind."

"John is not a sidekick." Sherlock said forcefully. Jim chuckled.

"What's wrong with being a sidekick?" He argued. "They're rather brave to stick around someone who constantly leads them into trouble. My Sebastian was faithful to the last. I had to trick him, too. He's believed I was dead for three years. I bet you hadn't told John, either."

"No." Sherlock was silent for a while. When he spoke, he sounded somber. "I miss them."

"Them? You mean John and the DI and your landlady?" Jim asked. "I miss Sebastian, too."

"Come back with me." Sherlock said. "If you confess, I can get you off charge and we can solve crimes together."

"Why would I do that?" Jim leaned back against the seat, rolling his head lazily to look at Sherlock. "I would get red in my ledger."

"You could make it up."

"Hmm." Jim thought about it. "Wouldn't I take John's place? He would be jealous of me." He snickered.

Sherlock gazed at the back of the seat. "John has married Sarah and no longer lives at 221B. I would guess she would not want him to endanger himself by helping me."

Jim raised his head. "Sebastian's also married. It's like we're the same person."

Sherlock had to smile. "We share a mind, Jim."

"That we do, Sherlock. That we do." Neither man spoke for a while, Sherlock reminiscing and also trying to deduce Jim's decision, and Jim trying to decide.

The plane neared it's destination. A thought occured to Sherlock. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"London." Jim laughed at Sherlock's expression.

The plane landed. Neither Jim nor Sherlock had bags, so they both left the airport.

"What do you say?" Sherlock asked Jim. "Either way, you're coming with me. But as a prisoner or an equal, is up to you."

Jim looked at Sherlock. Expressionless, he contemplated the choice. Finally, he stuck out a hand. "Equals."

Sherlock broke out in a wide smile. "Equals." He clasped Jim's hand.

They hailed a taxi. At Sherlock's command, it drove them to Scotland Yard. Surprisingly, in Sherlock's opinion, anyway, Anderson and Donovan were still working under Lestrade. Both of them had a near heart attack when they saw Sherlock and Jim come walking up.

Donovan leapt from her seat and backed up. "You… you're dead. How…?"

Anderson, to his credit, didn't look fazed, instead cooly getting up and walking to Lestrade's office. When he opened the door, he said, "Sir, Sherlock and Richard Brook are here to see you." When Lestrade stared at him, shocked, Anderson gave half a giggle and fainted.

Lestrade came tearing out of the room. "Sherlock!"

The man nodded to him. "Detective Inspector." Lestrade stared at him.

"How… how?" Was all he could get out.

So Sherlock explained. And eventually Anderson regained consciousness and all three listened to him recount the three years. When their eyes strayed to Jim, he revealed that he was not Richard Brook and had set up everything. Lestrade went to cuff him, but Sherlock held up a hand.

"He's fine, Lestrade." Sherlock said. "He doesn't need to be arrested."

"Sherlock, after all he did to you?" Lestrade asked, ready to take Jim off to jail.

"Yes. I trust him." Sherlock looked at Jim. "He's going to help me from now on."

"No way. He's not coming near our documents." Donovan refused. "Sir, he's a criminal!"

Lestrade hesitated. Jim just grinned easily. Sherlock looked at Lestrade, bored. "I've made my decision, Lestrade. You've never questioned it before. Well, you have, but I've always been right."

"That's true." Lestrade thought about it. "Both of you, my office. Anderson, Donovan, back to work."

The two Yarders stood, unbelievingly, as the other three went into Lestrade's office and shut the door.

They talked. And talked. And argued some, Lestrade got several headaches, but eventually they reached a consensus.

Jim Moriarty was a criminal, with charges warranting death penalty. That is, if Jim Moriarty was a real person. Jim had erased those records completely, so technically he didn't exist. Richard Brook was legally dead. There would be some charges if Jim became Brook, because of faking his death and identity theft, so that alias was no good, either.

The only thing to do, if Jim was to be allowed to go free, (Sherlock had convinced Lestrade to allow this, but Lestrade had insisted on unofficial probation,) was to create a completely new identity for Jim. Sherlock, as he had no criminal charges, (Mycroft had bribed several men to make sure his brother's posthumous record was spotless,) could be himself.

"Oh, I get to pick a name?" Jim asked. Lestrade nodded.

"You never heard me say any if this, but can you get records like you did for Richard Brook?" Lestrade said quietly. Jim waved a hand.

"It'll all be taken care of." He assured the Detective Inspector.

"Alright." Lestrade stood up. "Get me those records. Until I have them, I have to assume you're a criminal and I can't afford to let you go again, or it'll be on my head. Go now, and don't come back, either of you, until you have your legal documents."

Sherlock and Jim nodded. They thanked him and quickly left the building. Since neither had anywhere else, they went to 221B Baker Street. When Mrs. Hudson answered the door, she gasped to see the men.

It took an hour to explain to her, with several tears and several hugs, and one slap, which Jim smirked at while Sherlock glared at him and rubbed his cheek. When they finally made up, Mrs. Hudson happily sipping a cup of tea and firmly convinced that Sherlock was, in fact, alive, the two men went upstairs.

Jim sat in a chair. The flat looked relatively the same, just tidied up. Sherlock's skull was even still there. His violin was in the same place he had left it, by the window, so Sherlock picked it up and played a few notes.

"You suck." Jim noted bluntly. Sherlock didn't turn to face him, but picked up the pace and played a beautiful melody that Jim didn't recognize.

"Alright, I take it back." Sherlock laughed.

"I know." He came and sat on the couch. The two geniuses looked at each other.

"I have an idea for an identity." Jim said suddenly. "And I think if you recall our previous encounters, you will agree with me that's it's a good course of action."

"Do tell." Sherlock fiddled with the violin bow.

"Liam Holmes née Motierre." Jim pitched. "Your husband."

Sherlock blinked. He hadn't expected that. "Ah… why?"

"Oh, I don't know." Jim rolled his eyes. "We would be partners anyway. It just fits. We're compatible, we think alike. We could save on plane tickets. Plus, if one of us was injured, the other would be able to see us."

Sherlock set down his violin. "Any other reason?"

Instead of answering with words, Jim stood up. Crossing the room, he knelt down in front of Sherlock. Taking his hand, he placed it on his wrist. Sherlock felt Jim's pulse. Jim looked into his eyes, forcing Sherlock to note the dilation. Sherlock stared back.

"Take a guess." Jim whispered.

Sherlock sat motionless. Jim flipped their hands so that he could feel the other's pulse. He grinned. Leaning forward, Jim laid his lips on Sherlock's. Kissing him slowly, he felt Sherlock stirr a bit. Experimentally bringing his hands up to place around Sherlock's neck, Jim deepened the kiss.

Sherlock responded. Pushing forward, he toppled Jim over and lay on top of him, spreading his hands over Jim's chest and closing his eyes. Jim tossed an arm around Sherlock, holding him closer to his body. They sprawled like that on the floor, snogging, for a long time. It didn't progress, Jim knew Sherlock wasn't ready. They simply explored each other's mouths and enjoyed the other's nearness. It was their first night of many spent together.

Sherlock returned home from confronting John. His friend had been stunned at his return, but it went much the same as it had with Mrs. Hudson. John had thought it was a cruel joke, then been angry and punched Sherlock when he learned it was real, then Sarah had come in and started crying and hugging Sherlock, which he grudgingly bore. John and Sherlock had made up, John made Sherlock promise to visit often, and promised in return to come by 221B whenever he had time. Sherlock left a few hours later to come home to Jim.

Who was no longer Jim anymore.

"I got my documents." Was the greeting Sherlock received upon arrival.

"Fantastic!" Jim smiled at Sherlock's outburst.

"We are officially married." He said, waving the marriage certificate. Sherlock ran and picked up Jim, swinging him around.

"And we didn't even have to spend money on a wedding. How convenient." Sherlock commented, grinning happily. Jim kissed him.

On the following Tuesday, Sherlock and Liam Holmes née Motierre showed up at Scotland Yard. After showing the documents to Lestrade, they were invited to work on a case that had been puzzling the Yard for days. They solved it within four hours.

Anderson denied that he was sulking when he sat in the corner and crossed his arms.

John, as promised, showed up at 221B to visit. Upon seeing Liam, he yelled and tackled the man. Sherlock had to pull them apart. John stared at Sherlock as Liam's involvement was explained to him, then punched Liam one last time.

"For being a git." He said. Then he offered his hand. Liam took it and John helped him off the floor. Both were sporting bruises, but John, being a doctor, cleaned up the cuts and shook Liam's hand.

Sherlock hovered nervously, but if you asked him he would deny it. Luckily, John and Liam were wary of each other but then relaxed. By John's sixth visit, they were friends.

Molly, who knew all along, was totally fine with Sherlock and Liam, taking several deep breaths when told about their marriage, then putting on a good-natured smile and congratulating the two. After they left, she sat in a chair but refused to shed a tear.

She would move on, she told herself. Molly, you will find someone.

Curiously enough, the next time she was at a 221B party, Sherlock introduced her to his acquaintance (not friend) Jacob Ferrier and the two got on quite well. After two years and countless dates, Jacob proposed. Molly, after accepting, immediately called Sherlock.

Sherlock had the date circled on his calendar and was waiting for her call. Liam shook his head and accused him of playing matchmaker. Sherlock just smiled.

Anderson's wife left him after she caught him and Donovan together. He didn't really care, but he did care that Sherlock teased him relentlessly about it.

Sherlock and Liam were accepted into the police force as Consulting Detectives. The only ones in the world. As a gift, Lestrade gave Sherlock another deerstalker hat and Liam a gavel. Sherlock snatched the gavel and pounded the hat, throwing it back at Lestrade. Everybody laughed except Lestrade.

Sherlock and Liam solved a countless number of cases, one involving a woman who had been murdered in America and whose body was dumped on Sherlock's doorstep. That may have been the only time Sherlock cried at a death.

He held a funeral for Irene Adler later that week. Mycroft came, astounded at the event, but comforted his brother all the same.

That day, two brothers restored a relationship and became allies.

The boys of 221B, at the insistence of Mrs. Hudson, moved into the same room. She and Mrs. Turner, next door, compared notes on their "married ones."

"I was a bit surprised that it wasn't John," Mrs. Hudson confided in her friend, "And I can barely stand their experiments. I mean, now there are twice as many body parts in the kitchen, and Liam brought a person's skeletal hand with him. It sits next to the skull above the fireplace. Gives me a fright every time!"

Mrs. Turner clucked her tongue sympathetically. Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"But I do love them." She said. "They're my boys."

"How did they meet?" Mrs. Turner asked.

Sherlock and Liam got asked this question a lot. Every time, they said the same thing. Mrs. Hudson quoted them, as even she didn't really know the answer.

"They said, "It was a reunion of ghosts."

"What does that mean?" Mrs. Turner was curious. Mrs. Hudson shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest."

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